


Titanic

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 13:11:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4565844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though it hasn't been INVENTED yet, the boys are watching Titanic. BEWARE SPOILERS. If you haven't seen it :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Titanic

**Author's Note:**

> Me no own Beatles. Breaks my heart to say it, but it's the truth. I know. :'(

George Harrison looked down the row of movies stacked down the side of the wall above the TV and sighed. He was terrible at decision making and the others knew it. They blooming /knew/ it.

‘Paul?’

It wasn’t like his older friend would help, but at least there’d be an element of moral support, and the fact that he was asking would boost the boy’s ego even more, which could only be a good thing. He listened to the sounds of the bassist exiting the kitchen and coming up behind him, turning round to look at him, and motioned towards the film choice.

‘What d’you want to watch?’

Paul grinned, following the direction of George’s hands and surveying the DVD’s himself. ‘Well-’ And God, George could tell he was going to be annoying. ‘There’s always that Bardot –’

George scowled. ‘Go away.’

Paul smirked. George was /not/ reliving that. The most embarrassing moment of his entire /life/, and Paul was there to see it. Christ, the boy was such a flipping /pain/ sometimes.

‘You’re so /rude/ George. I’m only trying to /help/ now, aren’t I? And you /did/ ask my opinion.’ Paul inched closer until his arms were wrapped around George’s torso and his mouth was in his ear before whispering, ‘and from what I can remember, you did /like/ that film Hari. Quite a bit.’

George sighed, gritting his teeth, before stepping backwards onto Paul’s foot as hard as he could and relishing the pained squeal and feel of those arms relinquishing their grip as he turned to face his now-chuckling friend once more. ‘You’re a big bully, you know that Paul? Go back to your popcorn and get Ringo. Now.’

Paul bit his lip through the giggles and nodded, as solemnly as he could manage, before getting out a ‘sorry Georgie’, and heading to the indicated place, calling the eldest as he did so, disappearing to the oven. George scanned the shelves once more until he noticed that Ringo had materialised behind him and he had to turn around again. He hadn’t realised he was scowling so forcefully until Ringo asked him what was wrong. George bit his lip.

‘Just bleeding Paul being a bleeding nuisance.’

Ringo nodded, grinning. ‘No change there, then?’

George shook his head. ‘And I can’t decide which film to choose.’

Ringo sighed deeply, nearing the shelf for reference, before beaming and plucking his option from the mass of DVD’s. George squinted at the selection.

‘Titanic?’

Ringo nodded vehemently. ‘God, it’s brilliant George. And John’ll like it, cos it’s got some relevance to history and Paul will /love/ it, because it’s romantic, and you’ll like it, because … well, it’s /long/ and you can sleep.’

George grinned. ‘Okay.’

The shout of ‘popcorn’s ready!’ echoed from the kitchen and the sight of a very sprightly John Lennon clad in stripy pyjamas and a beam made both George and Ringo laugh as they sat down in front of the telly and Ringo leant forwards and inserted the movie into the disc player. Paul plopped himself in between George and the end of the sofa, with Ringo on George’s right and John next to Ringo, and the titles began to roll as John questioned what it was they were actually watching.

‘Titanic,’ Ringo replied, as he attempted to stop himself from bouncing through the ceiling in his excitement.

‘Oh!’

George jumped as the bassist sitting next to him sprang up to try and see Ringo, spilling half the popcorn all over himself in the process but straining anyways.

‘Oh!’

Ringo turned to Paul, grinning widely.

‘That’s the one with Leonardo Di Caprio isn’t it?’

Ringo nodded. Violently. George was pretty sure his head was going to come off.

‘That’s meant to be amazing. I /love/ Leonardo Di Caprio. Honestly,’ he turned to George. ‘He’s /amazing/ Hari, and really good with the romantic movies, and /so/emotive. And in /this/ one, he’s meant to be working class, like us, isn’t he Ringo?’ Ringo nodded again as John smirked from the other end of the sofa.

‘Does Paul have a bit of a /thing/ for Leo, d’you think?’

George exploded. His hysteric giggles just made Paul flush a very /un-Paul/ shade of red as Ringo grinned even wider than before and the bassist on his left began to shake his head hard to make his point. John laughed as Paul gave up, burying himself now into George’s shoulder and shaking, shaking, shaking his moptop as George just giggled without mercy and Ringo leaned over to pat him on the shoulder. It was only about 10 minutes into the movie when ‘Jack Dawson’ first made his appearance that Paul was able to whisper ‘I /don’t/.’

George could do nothing but beam at his friend and shake his head, knowingly.

oOo

‘Paul McCartney, you flipping great /pig/.’

Paul tore his gaze, startled, from the TV. ‘What?’

George motioned towards the almost empty bowl of popcorn. ‘You’ve eaten it all.’

Paul looked down then back up to George. ‘Oh. Sorry George.’

George shook his head despairingly, biting back a grin. ‘Well gimme some now then.’

But by this time Paul’s attention was fixed once more on the movie.

George rolled his eyes and lunged for the popcorn. Paul snatched it back. ‘Get yer own,’ he hissed.

‘Share,’ George hissed back.

‘No.’

‘/Yes/.’

‘/No/.’

‘Why you selfish little-’ George lunged again, only for Paul to yank the bowl away and spill practically the whole contents all over himself. There was a stunned five or so seconds before George leapt practically onto Paul’s lap in an attempt to salvage some of the popcorn as Paul batted him away in vain. It was five minutes later that George had collapsed, giggling, onto his older bandmate who was half-heartedly whacking him whilst hugging him simultaneously, and whose eyes were once more glued to the film.

George looked up. He hadn’t really been following it that closely and all he could tell now was that some posh American beauty was dancing around with a blonde haired man in a sort of attempt at an Irish jig. He felt the bassist stiffen slightly as a man clad in a black dress suit entered the frame, and the whacking stopped. George grinned.

The boy did /love/ movies.

oOo

God, this was possibly the /worst/ film ever invented. Right now, the red-head was lying naked on a settee, and the perverted blonde was getting out a pencil and some paper and George was the most confused he’d been since that fan had asked him why he was going out with the Queen. His head was on top of Paul’s which was on his shoulder and Ringo and John were in the same sort of position on his right side. He sighed.

‘Paul?’ The whisper was almost inaudible, and at the concentration on his bandmates face, he was pretty sure that the elder wouldn’t reply. He was surprised.

‘Yeah?’

Those eyes didn’t move.

George cleared his throat. ‘Why … why’s he /drawing/ her?’

He could almost sense the eye roll from the head beneath his own. ‘Haven’t you been watching?’

He sighed again. ‘I /have/, but it’s trash.’

Paul’s head jolted up. ‘S not /trash/. It’s /amazing/.’

George raised his eyebrows. Backed off a little. ‘Sorry.’

Paul wrinkled up his nose, making George grin at him, before settling his head back into his previous position and nestling it further into the younger boys head to get himself comfortable. ‘They love each other, and she asked him to.’

George frowned. ‘Why are they getting up?’

Paul huffed into the boy’s shoulder. ‘I don’t know now. I missed it cos of YOU.’

‘Gosh, I feel special,’ grinned George.

‘You should,’ murmured the bassist, now into the guitarists neck as they both continued to watch the two protagonists in the film running away from some guards and –

‘Oh.’ Paul sighed.

George’s eyes were wide. He beamed. /Finally/, some /action/. He could tell that Ringo was grinning, and John too whilst the boy on his left just watched with fervour as Rose and Jack hid themselves in a cabin and – well. The rest was really left to the viewers imagination. Lucky George had a good one.

He grinned.

oOo

George wasn’t really sure what had happened, but now Paul was sobbing into his shoulder and John was giggling into Ringo’s. Needless to say, he’d been asleep. He blinked a couple of times before focussing back on the film.

All he could tell was that the boy was dying. He was in the sea, freezing to death. George figured Paul could tell the end result.

‘Why doesn’t she get /off/?’ Paul was crying, crying, crying. George bit back a grin and pulled his bandmate closer, squinting once more at the movie and seeing that the girl was suspended on a platform above the icy water, which must have been what Paul was referring to. He shook his head.

‘She’s killing Leo, Paul,’ he heard John mutter from the other end of the sofa. Paul just flung his arms around George’s torso and wept. It was all the latter could do to stop himself from laughing at the normally-unshakeable bassist and his … /dramatic/ reaction to the death of a movie star as he made a mental note to get a horror movie out next and see how the perfectionist dealt with /that/.

‘He’s /dying/,’ John said again. George could vaguely imagine Ringo slapping the guitarists arm as Paul sobbed harder, wettening George’s shoulder further as he did so in his apparent pain and anguish.

‘S’okay Paulie. ‘S only a movie, like.’ That was Ringo.

George bit his lip, stroking Paul’s arm absentmindedly as he continued to watch. The girl was whispering to … to /Leo/ now, even though he was plainly dead (which was, in George’s opinion, totally pointless), and then leaned forwards and unclasped the dead man’s hands from the floatation.

/‘I’ll never let you go, Jack.’/ And she flung him into the depths of the freezing ocean.

George huffed and Paul collapsed into his arms. ‘Ohgodhe’sdead. He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead …’

A sigh from the youngest. ‘This is a /stupid/ film.’

‘He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead…’

‘We should turn it off, Ringo.’

‘Dead, dead, dead…’

‘S’not finished yet Georgie.’

‘Dead, dead, dead…’

‘How much longer?’

‘DeaddeaddeaddeadLeo’sdead…’

‘Bout 15 minutes.’

‘Dead, dead, /dead/, dead, dead…’

‘Oh /God/.’

‘George he’s /DEAD/.’

George looked at the tear-stricken bassist, frowning. ‘I /know/.’

‘/Dead/.’

A roll of the eyes. ‘S’not real /life/ though, is it?’

Paul shook his head. ‘No, but –’

‘/Exactly/. Stop blubbing.’

Paul pouted and clawed at his eyes to stop the tears. After all, lads from Liverpool didn’t cry over hunky American actors, did they? No.

It didn’t work.

And Paul didn’t stop sobbing until half an hour after the credits had finished rolling when the boys had made him a mug of hot chocolate, swathed him in a blanket and drilled it into his broken heart that his idol was very much alive and well, and that they would probably meet him in a week or two anyway, what with how their fame and success was going. He continued to sniffle all up until each conceded to giving him a /very/ un-Scouserly hug and to /get him that DVD for his next birthday/.

They complied without hesitation.

Anything to stop the tears.

Anything.

THE END


End file.
